


Acheron

by nimiumcaelo



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M, i wrote it for my sister, spock dresses up as a vampire, this is kind of stupid but whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-21 01:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11933352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimiumcaelo/pseuds/nimiumcaelo
Summary: There's a Halloween party on the Enterprise. Stuff happens.





	Acheron

Spock ran his tongue over the large fangs protruding gaudily over his lower lip. The hum of chatter in large parties such as this allows one entering or exiting to remain somewhat anonymous, until bumped into, as an atom at the dawn of the universe, and dragged into the main foray. Such was the case now; he was lurking, for lack of a better word, near the door before delving deeper into the pulsating mass of bodies. Several crudely costumed crewmembers pushed past him and shrieked high-pitched greetings to their friends, enveloping them in long-armed hugs and hasty glances-over to appraise each other’s outfits. Spock shifted his shoulders slightly and his somewhat inconveniencing black cape shimmered down towards the floor, a morose waterfall of fabric. Suddenly, a hand was on his shoulder and the moment had arrived when he would join the crowd – Jim Kirk spun him around and faced him, clad head to toe in a somewhat-convincing parody of a Klingon, but with glaring over-exaggerations whose only possible reason for existence could be humor. Jim grinned at him, face darkened artificially and, Spock thought, quite unappealingly.

“You look amazing,” Jim expostulated, continuing an argument over whether Spock should even attend this party. “I don’t know _how_ you could think this wasn’t perfect.”

“It is less the costume’s effectiveness that was dissuading me and more the presence of three hundred ninety-seven _Enterprise_ crewmembers that I have no affection for observing me and drawing certain, however frivolous, conclusions.”

“Aw, you’ve got affection for me, then?”

“I have yet to decide,” Spock deferred the question ambiguously, opting instead to let his eyes make their staccato path from face to face, searching for anyone familiar – or, rather, someone in particular he wished to see.

Jim noticed, of course.

“Bones is over by the drinks table,” he stage-whispered, a hand on Spock’s shoulder first rubbing and then slapping. Jim proceeded to smile much too knowingly for Spock’s sense of serenity and walk off pointedly in the direction of the drinks table, and Doctor McCoy. Following Jim with his eyes, Spock was able to spot the good doctor. He was dressed – perhaps ironically, perhaps not – in a simple rendition of a mid-nineteenth century American settler: colloquially, a cowboy. As Jim spoke with McCoy, the latter’s eyes wandered, searchingly, over the sea of people in the room. Finally his eyes made contact with Spock’s and a sly smile crept onto his face, yet instead of the hint of malice that usually accompanied it, Spock could find nothing but subtle appreciation, and that spurred him forwards.

“Didn’t think you’d come at all, Spock, much less show up in _that_.” The doctor gestured vaguely to Spock’s costume with a flick of his hand.

“You do not approve of my costume?” Spock probed superfluously; he knew the answer to his question already.

“Never said I didn’t _approve_ , Spock,” McCoy’s eyes made their salacious path down the hem of Spock’s cape, which he was holding up and fingering the material of. “Just that I didn’t think you had the guts for it, s’all.”

Spock carefully arched an eyebrow at him. He could pick at the minute details of McCoy’s colloquialisms, though that was tedious. Instead, he countered the idea.

“You seem to be under the impression that I find this experience to be embarrassing, Doctor.”

“As most people would,” McCoy noted.

“Yet you forget that I am not human, and thus cannot experience human emotion. Embarrassment is, as you yourself have admitted countless times, a very _human_ emotion.”

McCoy’s bright eyes condensed to curved slits.

“I think _you’re_ forgettin’ that you’re _half-human_ , Mr. Spock, and that’s gotta count for somethin’, at least.”

Spock tilted his head in a subtle assent to McCoy’s point. McCoy’s crescent grin was back and he jumped his eyebrows at Spock, who pretended to mind.

“I mean it though,” McCoy murmured, head tilted towards Spock’s jaw. “You do look good in that get up.”

Spock kept his eyes off of McCoy’s face as he replied, “As do you.”

McCoy’s shoulder found it’s way over to Spock’s as McCoy crossed his arms and leaned back. Spock watched as several people, including but not limited to Christine Chapel, Hikaru Sulu, and Montgomery Scott, approached the doctor and spoke to him about the party, ignoring the apparition of Spock looming behind him. Kirk’s face spins out of the crowd like a pony on a merry-go-round and he drags McCoy away from Spock, and it may be simply Spock’s imagination or McCoy may actually be reluctant to leave. Most probably the former, Spock reminds himself.

Parties are significantly less amusing when one is alone. Spock availed himself of the drinks table and the food table, supplementing a cold glass of water in a champagne flute with a crumbling brownie. He stayed there, alternating his attention between the dancing crowd and the twinkling stars. About half an hour passed and Spock found himself on the edge of his tolerance level for such functions and considered making his way to the door when he gave one last look around for his friends. They were engaged in conversation with Sulu and Chekov, who were dressed as a pirate and a Vulcan respectively. Spock felt a faint amusement over the Ensign's costume choice as he wove through the bodies and tables between him and the less-dense hallway. He put a hand on the door frame, the doors swished open, he was outside.

Spock had not passed three perpendicular corridors before he was accosted by McCoy, breathing just enough to show he had jogged to catch up with Spock’s loping stride. McCoy at first did not speak, simply grabbed Spock by the arm and dragged him into the nearest corridor, far enough down that the light from the main hallway did not permeate through and they were left in semi-darkness. Spock found his own face approximately three inches from McCoy’s, much closer than he would have dared had they been in normal lighting. As it was, he took the opportunity to observe the doctor more closely than typically allowed.

“Did you have any particular aim when you decided to relocate us here?” Spock breathed, overcome by the doctor’s close proximity.

“Oh, nothin’ in particular,” McCoy drawled, breath running hot over Spock’s cheeks. “Just a – vague sort’a idea.”

Blue was a distracting color, Spock decided.

“Such as?”

Spock’s eyes fell closed as he felt McCoy press a completely lascivious kiss against his mouth. Spock did not mind. His hands found the wide leather belt circling McCoy’s hips and he immersed himself in the sensation.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey I'm pretty new to writing fanfics so if you could give some constructive reviews that'd be great! Telling me what you liked/didn't like is really helpful so please comment!  
> Thanks for reading <3
> 
> -M


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